


Take These Eyes So I Can See (I'd Rather Be Blind)

by thefantasmickah



Category: Glee
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-27
Updated: 2011-10-27
Packaged: 2017-10-25 02:57:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/270976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefantasmickah/pseuds/thefantasmickah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When she looks through it later she can’t help but notice that if she tilts her head just right it’s like she’s looking through rose-tinted glasses. Life looks better when you don’t have a sense of what it means to make mistakes and are forced to grow up before you should.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take These Eyes So I Can See (I'd Rather Be Blind)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fayevsessays](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fayevsessays/gifts).



> Written for letscall_l as part of Round 3 of the glee_rare_pairs fic exchange. Many thanks to my wonderful beta icerose92!

 

Summer hits Ohio like an insult given by Sue Sylvester. One minute you’re complacent, the next you’re reeling from the sting that may never completely go away. The thing about Quinn Fabray is that she has felt that sting far too many times and from far too many people to really feel it any more. Well that’s at least what she tells herself. And that’s why her plan this summer is simple: Become what her old self would hate.

*~*~*

“You know all about reinventing yourself, don't you?” Quinn is sitting next to Sam on a park bench. She twists her fingers together and wishes she could disappear and just be someone else.

“What do you mean?” His hair is too long again and she really wants to take him to have it cut, or maybe even cut it herself.

“This year, you bleached your hair and were a complete nerd. That's a change, right?”

“The hair, yes,” he says and turns to face her. “The way I acted, that was pretty accurate.”

“Yeah,” she laughs breathily then sobers.

“Quinn, it doesn't matter how much you change your hair, you're still going to be you.”

She sighs and looks at the grass on the ground beside them, “What if I don't want to be?”

*~*~*

It takes her a week into summer before she sends a brief text to the only person she can think of who would have any idea of the right thing to do. “Pink or purple?”

The return text is a bit frantic for reasons she’s not really sure, “Quinn? What are you going to do?” And then an equally disturbing, “I’m coming over.”

She finds herself opening the door of her empty house to Tina and letting her in despite the confusion she feels at Tina even knowing where she lives. “Er, hi?”

“First thing’s first,” somehow Tina manages to take control of the whole situation, which leaves Quinn relieved because she really had no idea how she was going to dye her hair by herself at all, “What look are you going for?”

“Something different?” Quinn sits on the lid of the toilet in her bathroom and looks up at the girl standing in front of her inspecting the two boxes of hair dye.

“Yeah, I figured that,” Tina tugs on her hair gently and looks at her even more so, and she’s getting really freaking tired of that look, “But how do you want others to see you?”

She shakes her head to dislodge Tina’s fingers. “I just want to be me. The _real_ me. Are you going to help or do I have to do it myself?”

“I’ll help,” Tina sighs, and she’s getting really tired of that too, “What colour do you want?”

“I’m thinking pink.”

“Yeah,” Tina says opening the box, “I agree.”

“Awesome.”

*~*~*

When she looks through it later she can’t help but notice that if she tilts her head just right it’s like she’s looking through rose-tinted glasses. Life looks better when you don’t have a sense of what it means to make mistakes and are forced to grow up before you should.

*~*~*

She deletes all of the Christian music on her computer and moves all the CDs to boxes to donate or throw away. She browses around on iTunes for a while before giving up and texting one other person she hoped to never have to ask for help, “What's the angriest music you have?”

Her phone pings a minute later with language that makes her blush, and yeah, she has a _lot_ she still needs to work on. But her phone vibrates again with a list of names of artists and bands and Santana really needs to work through her issues because no one person should know this many bands off the top of her head that scream about pain and death. One final text is received, “Don't fuck it up, Fabray.” She's not really sure what that means, but she doesn't plan on it. At least, not this time.

*~*~*

It's Sunday the next time she sees him. She's in the park across from the church that they went to together when she was still considered worth something. That something is now probably pity, judging by the looks she's getting from the older women exiting the building. She flips them off, silently laughing at the way their eyebrows raise farther than hers ever could.

She blinks into the sun and her breath hitches as she sees gold hair catch the light; the effect is blinding. A small fist raises and waves in her direction and she tries to ignore the feeling in her body that makes her want to just give everything up now. She waves back, hesitant to make a connection, but it's too late and all she can think of is crying and pain and _Oh God did that really just happen?_

Sam's in front of her before she can blink away the dampness gathering in her eyes. “Hi,” he says, silently asking if he can join her on the swings. She motions him to the red one beside her.

“Hey,” she closes her eyes and tilts her head upwards, clearing her throat.

“I almost didn't recognize you,” he pauses, seemingly searching for the words before giving up and just gesturing to the area surrounding her head.

“Yeah,” she scuffs the heel of her Converse against the mat under her feet. She's really not sure why she didn't insist on wearing tennis shoes earlier in life, they made wedges and heels seem like murder.

“I like it though.” He twists the entire swing around so the chains click together. “It suits you.” He lets go. His body spins with the momentum he's built up and she watches as his face breaks into a smile. She can't help but smile softly in return, he deserves to be happy.

He is still smiling when he comes to a halt and shakes his head to try and put the world back on kilter. She reaches over to him and stops short, “Thanks,” she says, her hand falling back to her jean-clad lap.

“Hey, Quinn?” He looks at her with hope and God she really wants to be able to help him. “Do you maybe want to hang out this summer?”

His eyes are just so big and she doesn't know how to take care of her self, let alone another person, but she finds herself nodding along in agreement, “Sure.”

“Cool!” He says before jumping from the swing and standing in front of her. Before she knows it he's ruffling her hair and speaking again, “I do really like it Quinn. See you around.”

She waves to him as he leaves and watches as he meets up with his family before turning the corner of the street and disappearing from sight. As far as summers go, this one could be worse so far. She could be pregnant again, for one.

*~*~*

She starts with menthols and works her way up to real cigarettes. It takes more than a few experimental inhales before she figures out the proper way to take a drag. She's perfecting it outside the bowling alley the next time she sees him.

He stands against the wall next to her for a couple minutes before finally speaking, “Are you up for a game or are you just going to stay there looking _cool_?” He says it in a way that has her rolling her eyes and stubbing out her cigarette on the ground and following him inside.

She orders curly fries once they're inside and a large Coke to share. It almost feels like a date except she's pretty sure she's never been on a date this fun before.

It's when they're in their 5th frame and he's beating her horribly that he makes a comment that nearly sends her off the deep end. “It's the strength of my blue balls. I'm telling you, they're worth their weight in gold.” He looks at her slumped on the chair laughing before joining in and realizing what it is that he's just said.

They end the game with a fight over the last curly fry because there is no way that it's possible for Quinn to win their bowling game at this point. There would have been a time when she would have done almost anything to win, but now she can't really be bothered to care.

It's only when they're leaving the bowling alley and he's slugging her on the arm that she thinks that maybe things really are starting to change for her. But then he looks like he's going to hug her and she withdraws back into herself. And yeah, there are some parts of her that she doesn't think she _should_ change.

*~*~*

“I'm dating Mercedes,” Sam admits to her one night when they're sitting beside the small fire they built in Quinn's backyard.

She pokes the fire with a stick before responding, “For how long?” But it really sounds like _Why?_ and _How on earth did that happen?_

“Since a little after prom and Nationals.” He ignores the way she still has yet to train herself against physical reactions regarding both times.

“Are you happy?” She asks, spearing a giant marshmallow on her stick.

He looks at her for a moment before handing her the graham crackers and responding, “Yeah, I think I am.”

“Okay then,” she takes the cracker and blows on her marshmallow to rid it of the flame. “That's all that matters then.”

“Yeah,” he looks like he wants to say something more but he just averts his gaze and goes back to making his s'more.

*~*~*

She spends the time that she's not with Sam listening to music and being really angry at the world. There are probably better uses of her time but it's not like she has to think of anyone else anymore, that's kind of the point now.

She finds that it's a mix of metal and opera that gives her something, anything, to hold on to. Opera music reminds her of easier times. Times with her mother dancing around the house and there were no expectations, no pretending. It was just the two of them being fools and having fun. They don't have fun anymore.

Opera helps remind her that there are people out there who really have it fucking worse than she does. And it's becoming easier to think like that. Because life is like that sometimes. It sucks and it makes you want to gauge out your eyes and bury your head in the sand and forget.

She grew up being taught to avert her gaze from those who are sinning and are not part of God's image. If she followed everything her father (and the church) tried to teach her then she'd never be able to look in the mirror again. Sometimes, though, it's easier not too. She didn't have to pretend that she used to be someone that people wanted to be and to be with. Now she's just Quinn. She's not Lucy trying to be Quinn, she's just Quinn, and she's learning to be okay with that. She hopes this new version of herself sticks, because God knows she's running out of legal names to go with them.

*~*~*

He holds her hand when she gets her tattoo of Ryan Seacrest even though she's totally badass now and could do it by herself. She pushed a freaking baby out of her vagina, she doesn't really have a problem with pain. But it's nice to know that there is someone there this time that doesn't mind if she squeezes the hell out of their hand. It's thoughts like these that make her stomach clench because why couldn't it have been Sam? But then of course Sam would have never given her wine coolers to begin with so she probably never would have ended up pregnant.

He thinks the tattoo is ironic and makes some comment about how he can rap better than Artie could ever hope to and she really hopes he's joking because she kind of doubts it. But he says things like that a lot and she just lets it happen and pretends she knows what he's talking about. And a rap battle between them would probably be the highlight of her life. Which is kind of sad, actually.

He's been thinking of getting a tattoo sometime, his only problem is he has no idea what to get and, of course, the funds to get one are lacking. She's not really sure how she ended up like this, knowing more about him _now_ than she did while they were dating. Maybe this is part of becoming a different person. Or maybe she's just no longer trying to be perfect and she has a lot more time on her hands.

*~*~*

Later they're walking side by side when he stops suddenly and pulls gently on her hair, “Your roots are showing.” He smiles at her widely as she smacks his hand away.

“So are yours,” she quips and then adds, “And you need a haircut, you're starting to look like a forty-year-old man.”

He laughs loudly and takes her hand in his and pulls it to his chest so she can feel the beat of his heart, “You wound me!”

He lets their hands drop from his chest but they remain clasped. She squeezes his hand lightly and whispers, “Thanks.”

Quinn notices a short girl watching them with interest from across the street and down the road. The girl is gone before the Quinn gets a good look. “Curious,” she says slowly.

“What is?” Sam's gaze follows hers.

“Nothing, just thought I saw someone I knew. Must have been mistaken.”

*~*~*

It's nearly the middle of July when Sam breaks the news to her, “My dad got a job in Cleveland.” She looks at him and kind of hates herself a bit when she can't be as happy for him as she should because all she is thinking is _Not again_ and _Why does this keep happening to me?_ “We're moving at the end of summer.” She remains silent, just looking at him as he continues, “I broke up with Mercedes.” Her eyes widen at the statement and when she glances at him she starts to wonder if maybe she's not the only one feeling it too.

*~*~*

Three days later finds them in Quinn's room discussing hairstyles.

“I'm just saying,” Quinn speaks from next to him on the bed, shoes on, “I'm sure you think cowboys are great and all, but you really should get a haircut.”

“Why though?” Sam look at her sideways, wrinkling his face in a way that shouldn't be so ridiculous and attractive at the same time.

“If you let it go back to its natural colour then it's less work for you. And it will look better and less like you're trying to become the next Justin Timberlake from the 90s.”

“Wait, what?”

She sighs, “You'd think that someone who claims Justin Bieber is 'rock' would know who 'N Sync was.”

“I know who they are, but why are you talking about him?”

Quinn rolls over and props herself up so she can look at Sam more fully. She reaches to tangle her fingers in his long hair, “Frosted tips,” she says staring at him intently.

“Oh,” he breathes, looking at her with wide eyes.

“If I were to kiss you right now, what would you do?” Her voice is low, roughened from the smoke she allowed to meet her lungs.

“Kiss you back,” he says, eyes flicking down to her lips and back again.

“Good,” she says settling on him gently. She kisses him once before melting into him and kissing him again. “Good.”

*~*~*

“If I get my hair cut,” he says a couple days later during a movie they popped in to pass the time, “Will you go with me?”

She smiles and nods, playing with her newly acquired nose ring, “Absolutely,” she says before leaning in and kissing him fully.

*~*~*

He looks so good with his hair short, shorter than when she first met him. And the brown works a lot better for him than the blonde he was pretending to be. “I like it,” she says when they leave the hairdresser. She rakes her fingers through his hair, “It suits you.”

“I'm glad you like it.” His smile is large and she really can't help the way her heart thumps faster and then crashes when she remembers that he'll be leaving soon.

They walk hand in hand down the sidewalk in silence. It isn't until they reach the street of his motel that he speaks again, “Can you try and do something for me, Quinn?”

She looks at him and nods, “Possibly.”

“Can you--” he pauses as if searching for the proper words, “I know that you're reinventing yourself this summer, but can you not change too much? I want to be able to recognize you the next time we meet after I move.”

She blinks quickly and tries to make the tears go away before responding, “So no blue then?”

“Blue,” Sam looks at her curiously. “I think you'd look great with blue hair, really.”

She kind of laughs and wonders if maybe she _should_ have dyed her hair blue to complete her transformation. But then she remembers that she’s not really the marrying type anymore. But if she was then she could be something old, something new and something blue.

*~*~*

It's hot and sunny the day that he leaves. It's nearing the middle of August and it hasn't been nearly enough time for her.

She spends the last week of him left listening to a mix of metal and opera. Once even branching out into a rock opera Sam introduced to her, _Repo! The Genetic Opera_. She can really relate to Blind Mag; sometimes she wishes that someone would take her eyes and let her see clearly. Because honestly, sometimes she'd rather be blind.

They're beside his family's old car talking because she almost can't believe how quickly the time went and how soon she'll actually have be the new Quinn all the time. When he leaves she gives him a tight hug and finally allows herself to cry. It’s not what the old Quinn would have done but _fuck it_ she’s the new Quinn now and she is really going to miss him.


End file.
